


The Weight of the World

by twitchtipthegnawer



Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games), BioShock Infinite
Genre: (But not a ton of aftercare), Aftercare, Anal Fingering, BDSM, Cigarettes, Cock & Ball Torture, F/M, Femdom, Human Furniture, Ignoring Kink, Impact Play, Riding Crops, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:43:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23008090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchtipthegnawer/pseuds/twitchtipthegnawer
Summary: Elizabeth and Atlas have a deal. Atlas figures that if he complains enough about it, maybe he'll be able to convince himself he doesn't like being used as Elizabeth's table, or footstool, or chair. Maybe he'll be able to go back to happily, sadistically fucking every hole he can find, instead of finding himself fucked instead.Yeah, sure, and maybe Rapture will rise from the sea with the sunrise.
Relationships: Atlas/Elizabeth (BioShock)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	The Weight of the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raphae11e](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raphae11e/gifts).



He was sweating like a pig in a slaughterhouse. Earlier, he’d been just as nervous, too, but that had faded as his exhaustion took over. Now, it was all he could do to hold himself still and keep the shaking to a minimum.

It was important that he not shake too much. When he did, Elizabeth would - 

_Smack!_ Her riding crop hit his raw, reddened flesh. It left behind a little, square-ish welt, which joined the myriad of other little, square-ish welts all over his backside. His elbows threatened to buckle, and he only barely caught himself as Elizabeth clicked her tongue.

That. That was what happened when Atlas trembled too much.

“This is a lovely martini,” Elizabeth mused above him. “It would be a terrible shame to spill it.”

Cold drops hit between his shoulders, and he shivered. He was _positive_ that was deliberate. The little bitch wasn’t satisfied with how thoroughly she’d already humiliated him. She just _had_ to keep rubbing it in, didn’t she?

If only he wasn’t hard enough to cut diamonds. And if only he was wearing a bit more than his birthday-suit. Maybe then, she wouldn’t know exactly how much he was enjoying things. It was supposed to be a business deal, the unpleasant tradeoff necessary for both Elizabeth’s cooperation and access to her (frankly) bombshell body, and here he was. Getting off on it.

Had she suggested it because she’d known? There was no way. Even _Atlas_ hadn’t known.

Of course, Elizabeth herself was still dressed to the nines. Gloves up to her elbows, slick, black satin that soothed over his sore ass when she deigned to be gentle. A blue dress that was almost entirely open-backed, revealing the delicious (vulnerable) curve of her spine, the shift of her shoulder blades. Its sleek skirt had been hiked up to allow her to cross her legs more freely, and the heels she was wearing looked like they could be used for murder.

All that was to say nothing of the stockings on her legs. Atlas had been staring at her shapely calves for what felt like hours, now, and he just _knew_ he could follow that sheer fabric up, to where it released her thighs and framed her pussy, dripping wet cunt just for him, because he did what she asked, and he’d eat her out too if only it meant she would suck his cock -

She wouldn’t, because that wasn’t the deal. _This_ was the deal.

A perfectly good bed three feet away, and a full length mirror right in front of him. Its elaborate, modern, art-deco frame had been a vanity purchase when he’d picked it out. Now, he thought it was loathsome. He’d spent so long staring at it just so he didn’t need to look at _himself._

Flushed cheeks, like _he_ was the whore here, not the little _bitch_ with her perfectly styled hair, pearl-encrusted comb holding the coiffure in place. His own black locks, which he’d so carefully selected, were disheveled and spiked with sweat. His blue eyes were nearly green with she sheen of tears he was desperately holding back.

Finishing her martini, Elizabeth set the glass down on his back, and then slipped her fingers upwards, to the back of his neck. There, they met the ceramic ashtray she’d carefully placed. From it she plucked a cigarette.

Elizabeth smiled as her ruby lips wrapped around that fragile paper. She knew _exactly_ what she was doing to Atlas, and it wasn’t fucking fair.

“Careful,” she murmured. “Wouldn’t want ash to fall, now. A burn would be _such_ a shame.”

His dick twitched so hard it actually drooled a thin string of precome, and he growled, “Like you need an excuse to hurt me any more than this, ye bloody cunt.”

 _Smack!_ He gasped, even though he’d _known_ it was coming, and she replied, “You’d do best to watch. Your. Tongue.”

On those last words, she slipped the riding crop lower, so that it was pushing up on his balls. The soft, leather tip was deceptively forgiving, and the sensation had him biting down a groan. It wasn’t a _whimper,_ no matter what Elizabeth’s smirk implied.

Good thing she was sitting close enough to his ass that he could afford his elbows to wobble, a bit, without jostling her _too_ much. Except, then she _tapped_ his balls, and he felt himself nearly fall onto his face. Miraculously, the ashtray stayed in place, maybe because his head was trying to snap backwards at the sensation. Luck wasn’t on his side, though, and the stupid martini glass toppled onto the ground, shattering against the wood floor.

“Uh-oh,” cooed Elizabeth. “That’s an awful lot of glass, very close to some important parts. Isn’t it, Atlas dear?”

Atlas liked pain, but he didn’t like it _that_ much. Then again, Elizabeth knew what he liked. Elizabeth _needed_ him, so she _wouldn’t_ risk him getting really, truly angry. The fact that she was willing to threaten it, anyway, the fact that she toed that line so gracefully…

He was so overwhelmed, by this point, that he almost didn’t notice her setting down the riding crop in the spot formerly belonging to the martini glass. He _did_ notice, however, when her bare hand palmed one of his ass cheeks, fingers dipping dangerously close to somewhere he _really_ didn’t want _dry gloves_ going, satin or no.

“Hey, woah, what do you think you’re doin’ there? You aren’t actually thinkin’ - ”

“I am,” Elizabeth’s middle finger pressed against his asshole, just rubbing. Little circles that had his muscles tensing in a way he knew looked like an invitation. Atlas swallowed convulsively. “Do you think you can handle it? It’s just one little finger. A lady’s hands are so dainty, after all.”

Smartass. She always knew that the easiest way to get him to cave was to challenge him. Still, his pride pricked, and he growled, “Just _do it,_ then!”

Despite all her mockery, she didn’t move too quickly. It was a slow-building burn, the breaching of her finger. Slender and graceful and, yeah, _dainty._ Felt fucking big, for how small it was.

She was getting him ridiculously riled up for how little effort she was putting in. Atlas felt like the long, long wait for any attention at _all_ was amplifying every small touch, even if she refused to give him direct contact. It was as though his carefully built walls had crumbled the more he needed to focus on simply staying in position. He didn’t think he could come just from the single finger pressing in, deeper and deeper, stroking in a way that felt too hot and almost _mean._ But, alarmingly, it _could_ get him close.

Taking her time, Elizabeth crooked her finger just enough to reach his prostate. Atlas choked, a sound that he’d heard before - coming from the throats of men and women whose faces he’d fucked. The comparison, even inside his own head, made humiliation burn in his belly alongside the arousal.

“You know,” Elizabeth mused. “I think I’m getting bored of this. Aren’t you?”

All Atlas could do was bite his lip until he tasted blood. Elizabeth tittered at the sight of it beading up, dripping in a thin line down his chin.

Then he was _forced_ to cry out, as a burning hot dot seared itself into his shoulder blade. “I asked you a question,” Elizabeth all but purred.

“What’s the point of the ashtray if you’re going to use _me_ to put your faggots out?” Atlas gasped.

His accent was slipping, but he only had enough time to notice it before Elizabeth was cutting through his thoughts once more. “If you’re going to be like that, perhaps I _should_ find more diverting pastimes.” And then, to his horror, she stood up. Her heels crunched across the broken glass, and she reached down to pluck the ashtray from his neck, as well.

As important as pride was to a man like Atlas, one thing ranked above it, and it finally loosened his tongue. “Wait,” he said, pathetic and breathless.

“Don’t move,” Elizabeth ordered. It was enough of a promise to keep Atlas’s pulse from climbing any higher up his throat.

There were sounds in the room behind him, but he couldn’t see much from his vantage point. Even the mirror afforded him only a limited view, though it was enough that he got an eyeful of Elizabeth’s ass, draped in clinging fabric and all the more attractive for it. Her heels tapped, there was a rustle of fabric-on-fabric, then a noise like a cork coming loose. He hoped she wasn’t making herself another drink.

Unless, of course, she was willing to share with him. He’d sweated so much, and his throat was _parched._ He wondered… of course, she wouldn’t let him use his hands. Would she expect him to lap up water like a dog? She’d certainly brought him to heel. Or would she tilt his head back herself, gloved fingers coaxing his mouth open and holding the glass rim to his lips, forcing him to drink at whatever pace she dictated?

Once again, she walked around him, then planted herself on his back. “Sometimes I wonder what’s going on in that scheming head of yours, to get you looking like that,” she mused.

“Thinking about crushing that pretty little throat of yours under my boot.”

“And _that,”_ replied Elizabeth, “Is why I don’t ask.”

No sooner did Atlas realize she had the crop in her hand again, than she’d brought it down at the crease between his thigh and his ass. He inhaled sharply, but couldn’t quite get control of himself before her _other_ hand trailed over his flesh.

 _Fuck,_ she’d removed her glove and her hand was slick, leaving some kind of oily trail over his skin. It was cold, and even if his shiver was lost in the strain his body was under, she couldn’t possibly miss his goosebumps. If her chuckle was anything to go by, she was pleased by his reaction. Part of Atlas wanted to be indignant, to protest again, but… but…

Two fingers pushed into him, and his mouth fell open against his will. He panted as though it could release the pressure inside him. It was almost laughable, how easily she undid him.

Elizabeth scissored her fingers, forcing him to spread wider for her than was comfortable. He couldn’t help but feel as though she were softening him, _melting_ him from the inside out, that cold oil swiftly becoming a heat like molten metal. When he looked in the mirror, his face was so red he was half surprised not to see steam curling up from his lolling tongue.

With a flutter of her fingers, Elizabeth had Atlas’ eyes rolling far enough back that he couldn’t see _anything_ anymore. But he felt his cock twitch and drool precome, he felt his shoulders ache and _beg_ him to fall to the ground. He couldn’t, not just because Elizabeth told him to, but because she’d built him a prison of glass and he knew, he just _knew_ she wouldn’t have any problem patching him up, if he fell, so long as it left him with blue balls.

A third finger was added, and Atlas _felt_ himself exhale, knew he was making a noise, but couldn’t hear it over the pounding in his ears. For a long moment, that was all he knew, the _throb_ and _beat_ of his heart in his cock, his belly, Elizabeth reaching deeper and a darkness that felt like it might swallow him.

But then, there was some kind of… rustle? He forced his eyes open, unsure when they’d closed. It was a fight to get them to focus on the mirror.

When they did, Atlas let out an indignant noise far too close to a _screech_ for his dignity to take untarnished. Not that it mattered, though, he couldn’t control his reactions one bit at this point.

“Is that a f-f-fuckin' _penny dreadful?”_

“Hmm?” Elizabeth responded casual as you please, twisted her wrist to fuck into him harshly.

Sure enough, she’d set a book in her lap at some point, and was now reading it. She used the crop to turn the page, a neat little trick that showed off her dexterity with the… instrument. Perhaps, if this had been how she’d _greeted_ him, he would’ve found the sight nothing but erotic, albeit in an unusual way. Now, however.

Piss and vinegar welled up. “How can you - ah! You’d just f-finger a fella without payin’ any attention? What if those stupid manicured nails scratch me - ”

“Oh, Atlas,” Elizabeth sighed. “You don’t require that much finesse to take apart.”

As if to prove her point, she drilled her fingers right up against his prostate and stroked rapidly. She did this without even looking up from the cheap novel, and for some reason, it was more humiliating than if she’d _watched_ him fall apart.

Some fucking way, _that_ was what pushed him over the edge. This bird who’d perched on him and tortured him within an inch of his life and libido. The only person he’d met who took her eyes off him when, by all rights, he was one of the most dangerous fellas she’d ever danced with. At least, as far as Atlas knew.

His whole body went livewire, electric, fire, brain blown out and skin gone buzzy. One of his legs jolted without his meaning to, and it might’ve been Elizabeth’s only clue that he’d gone over the edge. His cock felt overwarm even though it hadn’t been touched, and come dripped sticky from where a bit had managed to shoot onto his belly. The floor was even more of a mess, now, and Atlas sure as shit wasn’t cleaning it up.

In a daze, he didn’t notice Elizabeth climbing off his back. He _did_ feel how it changed the angle of her fingers. She didn’t take them out, preferring instead to keep rocking them, albeit slightly more gently. It forced aftershocks out of him one after another, the too-sensitive goodness like the feeling of a headache after coming up for air.

Even his _tongue_ was tingling. What the hell was up with that?

Eventually Elizabeth got bored of torturing him, or perhaps decided she wasn’t quite as mean as her business partner, and those fingers retreated. Atlas’ hole felt puffy, raw, exposed. If he’d been a more honest man, he would’ve asked her to put them back.

Lucky for them both, Atlas was anything but honest.

Leading him up onto his feet, Elizabeth carefully guided him around the glass. Atlas found himself on his back on the bed before he knew it.

The sweet, soft mattress and down comforter were so luxurious that he felt like he was on clouds. The aches of having to kneel for long were only just setting in, and it still felt _satisfying_ rather than _annoying._ He was sure he’d be cursing Elizabeth come morning, but for now, he was miles above the ocean and enjoying it immensely.

When he came back to himself, it was to find Elizabeth holding… of all things, a medkit. “You sliced open your leg when you came,” she told him, matter of fact. How she knew that _now_ was the perfect time to explain and have him retain it, he’d never know.

“Huh. Good thing I’ve got a doll like you to make sure I come out in one piece.” Atlas leaned up enough to look at her, and a shark-like grin grew on his face. As though he were the predator, not the prey. “What would I ever do without you?”

“I don’t know,” Elizabeth pressed her thumb into his bandaged calf, watched red stain the white, and didn’t meet his eyes. “What would you?”

Yeah, Atlas was going to raise _hell_ in the morning. Maybe give a nice, rousing speech about how Ryan and his ilk were the parasites, or some shite. For now, though, Atlas was warm and lazy as a cat full of canary.

**Author's Note:**

> I think this was a... christmas present last year? Except I wrote it late and posted it even later, oops! This is kinda high density kink content, considering the number of tags in comparison to the number of words, but I hope people enjoy regardless.
> 
> Atlas is hot and deserves to be miserable, Elizabeth is hot and deserves to be happy. So everything works out in the end I think. I've never actually played a BioShock game.


End file.
